Tales of the Red Panda: Pyramid of Peril

by Gregg Taylor

  “Up to and including the fact that he tried to bushwhack me?” Kit asked sweetly.

  The Red Panda held his free hand out toward her for silence for a moment while he concentrated his mental powers. “Sorry,” he said at last, “the language barrier makes that tricky.”

  “You erased their memories?” she asked.

  He nodded. “They were hired in a bar, not far from our hotel, probably while he waited for you to change and bring the car around.”

  “He didn’t waste time,” Kit said grimly.

  “No, he didn’t,” the Red Panda agreed. “This whole play was a rather clumsy improvisation on the part of our friend El-Nemr. In any case, they won’t remember a thing after the bar. We don’t need them recognizing you.”

  “This is one of the awkward points about fightin’ crime in our secret identities,” she said in a singsong tone that was meant to scold him like a small, dull child. “The bad guys aren’t supposed to know where we sleep.”

  “Speaking of clumsy improvisations…” he said seriously.

  “And we were,” she agreed. “Anyway, I’m sure sorry that little rat-boy El-Nemr got away. Fighting in civvies is less fun than I remember it being. I’m gonna start carrying some Squirrel-toys when we go out on the town, costumes or no. Starting with the Static Shoes.”

  “Costumes wouldn’t have been a bad idea,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re tear-proof.”

  “I know,” she said with a frustrated gesture toward her largely bare shoulder, which he finally took an unintentional moment to appreciate. “How am I supposed to get past the gaggle of geese at the hotel with this?”

  “We’ll tell them someone tried to rob you,” he grinned, “and you decked them.”

  She beamed and hopped to her feet. “I like it when I don’t come off as delicate in our paper-thin cover stories,” she said. “I also love it when you talk rough. Say decked again.”

  “I will not,” he said, trying not to smile. “We should go. They’ll be waking up any minute, and some of them will be wondering why their jaws are broken.”

  They began to walk down the hill together.

  “So, true or false,” she said, frowning again, “our one solid lead scampered off into the desert like a frightened little girl.”

  “I didn’t see the actual scampering,” he said, “but under the circumstances, I’m going to go with true.”

  “We could ask around town,” Kit said hopefully. “How many jerks with fezzes can there be in town with a name like El-Nemr?”

  “Well,” he said, “I doubt they’re all jerks, per se, but since we’re in Cairo, not Toronto, I’m going to put the answer somewhere between hundreds and thousands.”

  “Say jerks again,” she said with a skip in her step.

  “No,” he protested.

  “What about the Old Man?” Kit said. “Was that just a wild-goose chase?”

  Fenwick shook his head. “No,” he said. “Max was here, right enough. El-Nemr obviously had second thoughts about providing me with a clue that large. Tried to peddle some cock-and-bull story about Alexandria at the last minute.”

  “Probably waiting for his goons to get here,” she offered.

  “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Remember, his original plan was to pull a knife on me to find out what I knew. Everything after that he was making up as he went along.”

  “So did the Big Bads send him to us, or is he a free agent?”

  “No idea,” the Red Panda said. “Certainly if the Eye of Anubis has the sort of power it is supposed to, whomever recovers it will be able to name their price among tin-pot dictators and would-be tyrants the world over. And possibly worse.”

  She grinned and looked up at him as they walked. “Guess we’ll have to find it first,” she said.

  “I was just thinking the very same thing,” he said. “Come on, I left in something of a hurry, but I’m certain the Old Man can help us get started.”

  They were passing the car now, and Kit’s knight-errant stood proudly and indicated the untouched car with a sweep of his hands. Kit held up one finger to ask him for another minute and he beamed his consent. She trotted several steps to catch up with the Red Panda’s long strides.

  All at once he stopped in his tracks and stared.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He whipped his head around as if looking for something he had lost. “There’s no light…” he said, before advancing toward the Old Man’s hut. He stood in the open doorway and gazed at the tiny, empty space. The clutter and bric-a-brac was gone. The fire and oil lamps were gone, leaving no trace of a smell behind. There wasn’t even a doorway anymore by the back of the hut. Technically, this made a great deal more sense than what he had seen earlier, but he had seen it. It had been here, all of it, inside this building that now looked for all the world like it had been uninhabited for years.

  He was taking up the entire doorway, but Kit poked her head under his arm, which was up on the top of the door frame.

  “Cute,” she deadpanned. “I had a place like this once. Hey, where are you going?”

  For he had suddenly broken away and was hurrying through the deepening twilight, searching for some sign. The street was not busy, but it was not empty either… but still there must be some trace.

  Just ahead he saw the receding form of a slim young woman with her head uncovered. In this area it stood out like a beacon and he raced ahead, not knowing what to call out to stop the young woman before she disappeared.

  As he closed the distance, he was certain it was her. The Old Man’s granddaughter… but he couldn’t call her that. She must have heard his footsteps pounding the dirt road behind her because she turned and seemed to brace herself before seeing that it was him.

  He stopped and held his hands up in front of him to indicate that he meant no harm. The girl simply smiled and showed no fear. He looked at her and for an instant he did not know where to begin.

  “My grandfather apologizes for the abrupt end of your conversation,” she said with a slight bow of her head, “but this matter of the Eye grows too dangerous. He is the guardian of much knowledge that is hidden, and he dare not allow it to fall into the hands of the enemies of man. Not even for the sake of a friend, like Maxwell Falconi. We must withdraw.”

  “But I need his help,” Fenwick protested. “Your help… I have to find Max.”

  The girl smiled and shook her head. “You do not need us,” she said. “You are like the Stranger. A hunter. You will never give up.”

  “Time is an element,” the Red Panda said. “There are others in the hunt.”

  She nodded. “Falconi could be anywhere now, and even my grandfather cannot help you find him. But if he yet lives, he seeks the Eye of Anubis, and he will never quit in his search. Seek the Eye and you will find the man.”

  “Marvellous,” the Red Panda said. “All I have to do is find something the size of a baseball that’s been lost for thousands of years. Simple, really.”

  She smiled and shook her head, as if he were a small boy. “Not lost,” she said, as the shadows of twilight seemed to blossom around her. “Not truly. The Eye is where it always has been. And to find the Eye, you must walk the Great Field.”

  “The Great Field?” he protested. “But I thought that…”

  But the girl was gone, and only the drifting shadows of the desert remained where she had stood.

  Ten

  August Fenwick prepared for bed almost ruefully. Were his body not still adjusting to the time difference, he could never have slept this early, but as it was he could almost convince himself that the Red Panda had completed his patrols of the city and was ready to allow his alter ego to rest.

  Weston fussed over preparing the room and seemed slightly surprised that his new employer, who had a reputation as a nighthawk and something of a gad-about, was retiring at this hour, but he was clearly in no way displeased.

  “I do hope that your excursion this evening means that you will sleep as w
ell as Miss Baxter, sir,” Weston said, hanging his Master’s clothes. “She retired at once upon your return. I expect the excitement of the scuffle in the street took it out of her.”

  Fenwick smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that one, Weston,” he said. “The fellow was flat on his back before I could shift a step. I’m thinking of promoting her to bodyguard.”

  There was a momentary pause as Weston seemed to be trying to judge if Fenwick was joking. His moustache waggled slightly, and it seemed to Fenwick that he must have smiled. “In any event, sir, I hope that you will sleep just as soundly,” he said.

  “On the contrary, Weston,” Fenwick said, turning his gaze to the city at night through the window, “I feel quite invigorated.”

  “Well, you are very right to try and relax,” Weston smiled. “You are on holiday, after all. No sense rushing things.”

  “No indeed,” Fenwick said. “There’s nothing to be done this evening, and a long drive ahead tomorrow.”

  “Sir?” Weston asked, surprised.

  “I have a bit of an excursion planned,” Fenwick said. “I’ll run over it with you in the morning.”

  “Very good, sir,” Weston said, closing the closet. “If I may be so bold, sir, do take a care that young Miss Baxter does not get too much of the desert sun. She is quite fair.”

  Fenwick turned back into the room, surprised. “Weston?” he said.

  Weston bristled slightly, suddenly awkward. “My sister, sir, had a girl who was red-haired,” he said, “and the poor child was always terribly prone to sun-stroke.”

  Fenwick must have looked quizzical because the older man seemed to feel compelled to continue, though he would clearly have rather left it at that. “I suppose it must have been the events of this evening that made the comparison for me,” he said. “Flattening a bully was just exactly what my young niece would have done as well. So you see, sir, I am familiar with the very headstrong, and have never quite found it to be the character flaw in young ladies that it is supposed to be.”

  Fenwick smiled at his new butler. “Weston,” he said, “are you developing a bit of a paternal streak where Miss Baxter is concerned?”

  Weston raised an eyebrow. “A head butler must, in many ways, fill a paternal role for all of the staff in his charge.”

  Quite suddenly, from out in the hallway, a woman’s voice gave a small squeak of surprise, followed by a giggle. The two men looked at one another.

  “Sounds like someone’s going to get a spanking,” Fenwick said with a rueful smile.

  “Indeed, sir,” Weston said grimly. “If you’ll not be needing me further, sir, I believe the children may require my attention.”

  “Of course,” Fenwick smiled, and Weston stalked out of the room as if on a mission. Fenwick made his way around the room switching off the electric lights, until only the lamp beside his bed remained. The telephone rang and he quickly lifted the receiver.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “So here’s what I was thinkin’,” Kit’s voice purred over the line. “I was thinkin’ that by now, El-Nemr’s made his way back to whoever he’s working for-”

  “If he’s working for anyone,” he interrupted, sitting on the bed.

  “He is,” she said. “I know a henchman when I see one.”

  He nodded. “I will admit the wild hunch in question into evidence,” he said.

  “Why, thank you,” she lampooned his manner. “If I may continue?”

  “Please do,” he said.

  “El-Nemr’s gone back to his master and told him that the August Fenwick in the Imperial Hotel is a phony, some kind of operative…” she said.

  “…who seems to surround himself with extremely deadly, beautiful girls,” Fenwick said with a smile. “They’ll have a devil of a time figuring that one out.”

  “Hey,” she said, surprised, “both of those girls were me, you know.”

  There was a heated moment of total silence.

  “I meant that it would be an interesting report to El-Nemr’s employers,” he explained.

  “Oh,” she said, “so it was El-Nemr that thought that both of those girls who were me were also beautiful?”

  “Kit Baxter, behave yourself,” he said.

  “Really?” she asked, and he was certain that she was biting her lip when she said it. None of this was going to help him sleep in the slightest.

  “We seemed to have strayed somewhat from the subject at hand,” he said seriously.

  “Yes, Boss,” she said reluctantly. “Where was I?”

  “I had been revealed as some sort of operative,” he said.

  “Yes you have,” she said. “And then you came back here and got into your jammies and went to sleep in your very own room like a nice, big sitting duck.”

  “You think they’ll try something?” he asked.

  “Hang on,” she said, “I got a little bit stuck on the whole jammies thing.”

  “You’re in quite the mood tonight,” he said, astonished.

  “You have no idea,” she said quickly. “So here’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “You crawl out your window and go sleep in Signora Bavetta’s room,” she offered.

  There was a small pause.

  “Who’s Signora Bavetta?” he asked.

  “Italian national,” Kit reminded him, “living in Morocco. She has the room below you.”

  “Ah, yes,” he recalled.

  “She’s another beautiful girl who is also me,” she offered.

  “Thank you,” he said, “I’m up to speed now.”

  “Yeah,” Kit said. “Go sleep in my bed. Her bed. That bed. Is it just me or is it warm in here tonight?”

  “I’m not that concerned about it, Kit,” he said. “They would have to be desperate to try something tonight, and if they did, they would want information.”

  “So?” she asked.

  “So,” he said, “they would be trying to capture me, not kill me. Which would present me with an advantage. And how does presenting me with an advantage usually work out for people?”

  “That’s a real nice argument, Boss,” she said, “and not a very compelling reason not to sleep somewhere else.”

  “How about this, then,” he offered. “If they try something, I can capture one of them. Hopefully one who knows more than the local goon patrol that jumped you. That could break the case wide open.”

  She sighed. “All right,” she said, “I’ll crawl around the building and make camp in Bavetta’s room so I can listen for somebody trying to break your case.”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t think it’s that likely a scenario, and I need you rested for tomorrow.”

  “Do tell,” she purred.

  “We have a long drive to take. To Luxor,” he said.

  “What’s in Luxor?” she asked.

  “The girl said that to find the Eye of Anubis, we must walk the Great Field,” Fenwick said.

  “And this field is in Luxor?” she asked.

  “It’s another name for the Valley of the Kings,” he replied.

  “Sounds fancy,” she said.

  “Well, Luxor is nice,” he offered. “Magnificent temples. The valley itself is mostly sand and rocks.”

  “So we go to this Valley of the Kings, hit up the local pyramid-”

  “There is no pyramid there,” the Red Panda said.

  “But the Old Man said-” she protested.

  “I know what he said,” he agreed. “But the pyramids are much older than the tombs of the Valley of the Kings. I don’t pretend to understand it, but this seems like a place to start.”

  “Captured assassins notwithstanding,” she offered.

  “There is that,” he agreed.

  “Okay,” she yawned. “Well, I think I could actually sleep, so I’m going to try. G’night, Boss.”

  “Good night, Kit,” he said. He listened for the click on the other end of the line, but didn’t hear anything. He supposed he must
have missed it and put the receiver back in its cradle and sat a moment in silence.

  It was only this silence that allowed him to hear the noise at all, a very slight scuffling sound just outside the door of his suite. Fenwick listened intently for a moment and heard it again. It seemed far too subtle to be any of the hijinks that the staff in his retinue seemed to be up to this evening. He quickly leaned forward and silently extinguished the light next to the bed. In the instant before the room was plunged into darkness a smile could be seen upon his face, and it was clear that the Red Panda was not the hunted, but the hunter.

  The door opened a fraction of an inch, just for an instant, and then quickly and quietly opened more fully to admit a large, dark shape. For a full minute or more there was only silence while the intruder’s eyes adjusted to the darkness after the bright lights of the hotel hallway.

  When at last the moonlight through the window clearly defined the shape of the bed on the far side of the room, the very faintest of sounds could once again be heard. Soft footsteps making their way slowly across the thick carpet of the penthouse suite. The dark shape stepped forward into a moonbeam which just barely defined the man’s silvered silhouette against the darkness. The intruder paused, considering the bed, as if trying to satisfy himself whether it was occupied or not, then stepped forward once again. A flash of metal shone in the darkness as the intruder produced a pistol, and that seemed to be all the evidence that the silent watcher in the shadows required.

  The pistol was wrenched from the intruder’s hand as he was suddenly flipped through the air with a judo hold, landing on his back with a thud. The stranger twisted away from the grasp like iron that bound his arm and broke for the balcony doors at top speed.

  For the Red Panda, this maneuver was unexpected, leaving the field of battle at the first sign of resistance. His foe was over six feet and at least two hundred pounds if he were any judge, but here he was, bolting for the least obvious exit without pausing to recover his lost weapon or to finish his assignment. It was unexpected, and the resulting lack of position cost the Red Panda precious seconds in responding.